


As Good As It Gets, I'll Have One Regret

by legbeforewatson



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Ashes 2015, M/M, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legbeforewatson/pseuds/legbeforewatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Jimmy's first Ashes without Graeme Swann, without being favourites, without an air of confidence. Change was inevitable, of course - but amidst the chaos of rebuilding a broken team, he realised the only constant was Michael.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Good As It Gets, I'll Have One Regret

**Author's Note:**

> What started as PWP turned into something more meaningful, go figure. I've definitely planned on writing a multi-chaptered Clanderson set during the entirety of 2015 Ashes, but I couldn't quite wait so I thought I would kickstart things in a vague, flexible, hotel setting where most cricketer hush hush DL business is done anyway. 
> 
> The first chapter, however, is set in [The Landmark](http://www.landmarklondon.co.uk/en), where the England team usually stay when they're playing at Lord's. I'm not entirely sure where the touring team resides but for fictional purposes, they're staying there as well but different floors, naturally.
> 
> Title from the song 'Wading' by Jhene Aiko.

_Magenta tulips._ He said he had brought it to colour the now beige-washed Victorian walls. And if they really could talk then they must have witnessed the steady change of clientele over the years. The ring of bells for chambermaids, crinolines draped heavily around petite waists, the laughter of suddenly short-skirted socialites, a waterfall of champagne to celebrate privilege, fire and rage to light six years of absolute darkness, and the final fall of an empire. Beneath the thirty-two layers of refurbish paint; they held on to the images that no one would ever see again.

He moved to thank him with an air of mockery, placing the Dutch emblems in a partly filled vase that typically sits in the middle of the dining table. Rarely had tulips graced this hotel, let alone this room. The Englishman only answered with a small shrug as he unbuttoned his navy-coloured trench, designer brown plaid lining them. He threw the outerwear over one of the chairs adorning the lacquered mahogany table while commenting on his clearly captain’s privilege to score the expensive suite while peasants slept in ordinary rooms.

The other man failed to return the dig, noting instead that he thought the colour reminded him of them. _Red. Purple. Never knowing what it’s supposed to be._ The brunette had by now stood silent across him – fingers and knuckles stretching on the table out of nervous habit, only the Italian-made table between them.

‘This is the first time since…’ James started, eyes anywhere but him.

‘Surely not since Swann, because well —’

‘— since we _ended it_. I mean… it’s the first Ashes – the first without him’ James mumbled, feeling as if he had suddenly lost grasp of the English language.

‘So these are funerary flowers?’ Michael scoffed. 

James tried to roll his eyes but his gaze fixed on the flowers, remembering instead that Graeme had once given him the same bunch of flowers for his birthday. It was mostly a gag gift; the other man wouldn’t know romance from a fraud attempt. He still took it kindly, letting it proudly sit in his house – almost a slap to the face to his wife.

‘I told you – I hate beige. It reminds me of… school. School walls’ James muttered.

‘So when did the bullied decides to become the bully again?’ Michael drawled, fingers cupping a flower as he leant over to find tulips smelt of nothing.

‘I didn’t bully _anyone_. It’s just… banter. It’s the foundation to any British solidarity’ James protested.

‘Banter doesn’t land you a book deal’ Michael chuckled.

‘Anyone can write a book these days’ James drawled. 

‘Yeah, I know. I’ve read yours’ The Australian flashed a knowing smile, studying the now rather defeated-looking James, though he suspected it wasn't so much down to his comments. He added after a pause, ‘I like the little homage to me.’

‘I just wanted people to know that you’ve always been a prick’ James replied matter-of-factly, a bored expression upon his face as he slowly walked around the table towards Michael’s perimeter.  

The batsman’s eyes never ceased to leave him since he had walked in the door, welcoming his tasteful dressing and ever-manicured hair. He’d never admit he was vain, though his persistent remarks on the calamitous relationship between their beloved sport and fashion certainly tell a different story. Michael can’t help but agree, especially since they were once victims of such misfortune.

James doesn’t stop until he’s standing toe to toe with Michael, the warmth of the other man enough to carry him where he needed to be. He lifted a hand to press against his chest, keeping it there as his eyes searched for wanting in the other man. Michael had been here too many times to know how to exercise unbroken control, in fact – it was second nature to show indifference for the other man. He doesn’t make any moves, knowing that despite his lack of response he was still capable of making the Englishman heed to what he desired (if only because they seem to always want the same things).

James’ fingers capably worked the buttons on Michael’s shirt, revealing a sliver of skin with each triumph. He leant over for a kiss only for Michael to rebuff. James didn’t need explanation for his refusal and instinctively sank to his knees, and after unfastening his belt and unbuttoning his jeans with efficiency.

Michael was already half straining when James took him out and the sudden liberty only moved to animate him further. He reminded himself never to watch the Englishman – not when the wetness of his tongue traced his length, not when he opened up to take him, not when his moaning sent vibrations up him and all the way to his spine, and certainly not when he compliantly took all he had to give him once he reached his peak (…and _definitely_ not when James is in that particular mood to feel it on his face).

With snake-like movement, James glided back up Michael’s body – ignoring the prospect of bowling with less than optimum knees tomorrow. The second kiss was well received this time, the aftertaste of Michael himself.

‘I can still remember when you first did that.’

‘Why? It was shit’ James laughed, half-distracted as he’s helping him fully undress.

Michael stepped out of his jeans, pushing them to a side as he witnessed a manner of naivety in him that was always present in the nineteen year old he met in Burnley. It was almost sick how he kept this memory alive – by splitting them into two different persons: the introverted, awkward Catholic boy he wanted to corrupt more than anything else and the take no shit, veteran record-breaker he was afraid of losing.

‘Yeah, exactly’ Michael snorted. 

James rolled his eyes, taking a small step back to strip off his clothing as well, never quite trusting Michael what with his utter disrespect for his designer apparel. He tugged off his second skin jeans, revealing to Michael that he was wearing nothing underneath. _No point, eh?_ The Australian gave him a playful smile.

They both finally stood naked in a Western-style showdown and it didn’t take Michael long to take the first step forward towards the Englishman. They walk towards the bedroom: heavy jacquards clothing French windows, Egyptian cottons with impossibly high thread counts, rich imported silks, and the reminder that in some places in the city – celebrations of the leisure classes continued.

The first feel of the sheets against James’ skin were enough to earn a small sound from him, hands gliding down against the softness. Michael followed suit, but he settled for feeling James’ flushed skin instead, pressing kisses to each and every bit of skin within mouth’s reach.  James’ breathing grew heavier as Michael’s hands and lips synchronously wandered to outline the form of his physique, before stopping short below his navel.

‘Don’t move’ Michael murmured, pulling away from James (who let out a frustrated groan) and wandered towards the walk-in closet. He turned towards the row of ties nestled tidily against his ceremonial suits and grabbed two of the nearest ones – the Cricket Australia crest eyeing him disapprovingly. He returned to a now half-seated James, propped on his elbow as he examined him curiously.

Michael climbed back up the bed, ties in one hand as James managed a small scoff, ‘You always get so kinky before a game,’ before he held out clasped hands. Michael wrapped the soft fabric around James’ wrist, fastening them just enough for James to lose ability to move freely.

Michael slithered behind James, unfolding the tie before him and slides them over James’ eyes. The room suddenly became dark for the fast bowler, though he could still see a small peek of light from under. James displayed a hint of amusement on his lips – he always liked the fact that they were both open to mild experimenting. Michael particularly liked tying him up, and James quite enjoyed role-playing.

‘Isn’t this considered blasphemy?’

‘And you making me wear an England kit while I fucked you roughly was…?’

‘— a great idea’ James grinned.  

Michael shook his head, pushing James onto his back and prompted his secured arms to rest above his head. James let out a satisfied sigh; he had always loved the feeling of surrendering power.  He could never stand being captain – other than the fact that he was a bowler and showed no signs of leadership – he’d give it up in a heartbeat if he were ever considered.

Michael, however, was a natural. He had no problems of showing it either as he so willingly put James in a submissive state, reducing him into a begging mess in such a short time. James was never one to compare the men he has had, but he’d gladly admit that Michael knew just how to touch him. Years of experience, perhaps – but their chemistry in bed had always been startling.

‘Say what?’ Michael whispered hotly against his skin.

 _Please_. The Englishman moaned, biting his bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood as Michael’s tongue gladly travelled down his body. The tie was tight enough to dig onto his skin and he loved the feeling of restraint, the lack of freedom, knowing that Michael had the complete upper hand in this.

Michael would be lying to himself if he said he could keep this up for long, and soon enough he was nudging James’ legs to welcome him. He kneeled between his legs, taking the sight of him – vulnerable, pleading, a sight that cricket fans would never see or _want_ to see.

James said he didn’t need to be prepared, and Michael didn’t need to be told twice as he expertly rolled protection on. Once armed he grabbed his hips possessively, settling on an angle he knew would hit his spot on the get go. When he finally entered, James completely succumbed, head thrown back in a sense of both pleasure and pain.

They found each other’s rhythm effortlessly, meeting each other in the middle as they rocked against each other. James writhed underneath him, groaning in delight concurrently and Michael took that as green light to demonstrate every trick in the book.

Their feedbacks complimented each other and though Michael felt like he could last he was more than ready to let go as the sounds James were making edged him closer.  He placed upon him all of his weight, hitting that particular place continuously to send the other man into a frenzied state. James was kind enough to announce his closing in, albeit desperately – but it was Michael who reached first.

He stayed for a while, catching his breath before he reached up to allow James freedom once again. When they finally returned from summit, Michael moved for a half-hearted kiss before settling next to him – eyes shutting close. James on the other hand removed the tie from his eyesight, blinking away the darkness before he assessed the mess he had made on himself.

‘Alright, I’m off’ James leaned over to press a small kiss on Michael’s shoulder, the Australian captain recognising the other man had become more affectionate since he ended things with Swann.

‘Early training?’ Michael’s eyes followed James who scurried to the bathroom to freshen up.

‘FIFA date’ James called out.  

Michael snorted, always finding their culture of fanatically playing video games quite peculiar. He’s heard stories of the illustrious logbook they kept to keep records – a few pages reserved for non-Englishmen but not many from his team.

‘I can’t see Cook working a smart phone let alone playing video games’

James emerged from the bathroom with a frown, ‘It’s with Stu.’

‘You date tossers, you hang out with tossers.’

‘Apparently, I fuck them as well’ James gave him a pointed look, before heading out to pick up the trailing of clothing he had left leading towards where they first started.

‘Can’t imagine Broad is very good’ Michael yawned, stretching his arms before he too stirred from where he was comfortably resting to clean himself.

James doesn’t reply right away, clothing himself before making his way to the bathroom and stands carelessly by the doorway. It was times like these where he missed Graeme the most – where banter was tongue-in-cheek and not a stubborn need to one up the other. Though their dynamic had never really changed in fifteen years (save for the more aggressive nights in times of pressure), the five years he had with Graeme was eye-opening on the kind of healthier relationship he was capable of.

He had always called Graeme his “tour husband” – truthfully, they had used each other as substitutes for their respective marriages, nearly non-existent as they are with the amount of time they spend away from home. Their relationship mimicked that of England’s success; so when the spinner left in the middle of the tour – James felt the illusion shatter and the truth taunted him that maybe he wasn’t quite the love of his life.

Michael had always told him how much he had changed being with Graeme. He argued, of course – he had always been malleable when it came to people who were self-assured and domineering. _You’ve always been a follower_ , Michael declared. Nevertheless, he cherished his relationship with Graeme. He was overbearing and annoying at the best of times, but he cared for James and near worshipped the ground he walked on. It was comfortable, it was warm, it was safe, and it was everything Michael was not.

‘Since when do you care who I sleep with?’ James doesn’t quite look at him when he asked this, and he wasn’t quite sure why he did too.

Michael answered nonchalantly, ‘I don’t.’

James quieted at that before he mumbled sheepishly, ‘Well, I’m not.’

‘And why would you? He’s clearly sexually challenged.’

‘I mean… I’m not,’ James hesitated, ‘—sleeping with anyone else.’

Michael glanced over at him with a mystified expression, clearly amused to why this exchange was suddenly necessary. ‘And? I’m still not fucking you without a condom if that’s what you’re suggesting’

The Englishman only managed a small smile. Michael must have thought it strange that he had no smartass reply lined up. James peeled himself off from where he had been leaning and contemplated walking over to kiss him goodbye but felt it redundant all of a sudden. Instead, he faked another smile, ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Oh, right. I can’t see you tomorrow’ Michael announced as soon as James turned on his heel. ‘I have someone else, you know?’

James’ first instinct was to ask him who but he knew he had no right and so he nodded, ‘Yeah, sure. Just message me.’  

Michael flashed a knowing smirk, ‘Spoken like a true fuck buddy.’

The fast bowler turned to exit once more, and for the very first time he felt c _heap_. Those magenta tulips seemingly mocked him as he walked past it and he wanted nothing else but to shout at Michael. Silly of him to think fifteen years amounted to anything. Silly of him to think anything would change now that Graeme was out of his life. _Never mind,_ he grabbed his coat, turned the door handle before he concluded: _the sex is good_.


End file.
